


Small Matters

by JadeClover



Series: star-hewn colossi [21]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 07:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16259603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeClover/pseuds/JadeClover
Summary: Zarkon is not accustomed to uninvited intruders in his audience chamber, but he is even less accustomed to miniature ones only a handful of decaphoebs old.





	Small Matters

**Author's Note:**

> If I recall, the original purpose of this fic was to write something lighthearted and adorable, and I _think_ I succeeded? But Zarkon is old and maudlin and resists happiness whenever I try to give it to him.
> 
> (Featuring the tip of the iceberg of my extensive headcanons on Galra family structures, in which _aren_ is one of their many words for parent.)

He is aware immediately, in only the way one accustomed to millennia of sameness can be, that something changed within his throne room. Before the elevator finishes its ascent, his eyes light on the disturbance—and it is by far a stranger one than he would have imagined.  
  
The tiny, furred kit turns in place and freezes, his large, luminescent eyes gone wide and unblinking. Zarkon's brows draw together. A _kit,_ lurking in his audience chamber?  
  
He steps from the elevator platform and the cub breaks eye contact, fleeing with a tiny wail. Zarkon continues his sedate walk to the throne, unhurried, as nowhere remains for the child to flee to. Instead of sitting, he turns and leans around the side of it, earning a distinctly louder and more panicked noise. _Tenacious cub._  
  
Zarkon is larger and quicker and seizes the child by his furred scruff before he can get to his feet and run. Lifting him to eye level, Zarkon peers at him.  
  
"Who are you, child?" he asks.  
  
Fur standing on end, large ears flattened to his head, the cub merely pulls his limbs close and dangles, meeting Zarkon's gaze with such a look of stark terror that it becomes clear he must re-evaluate his tactics.  
  
He tries for a milder tone: "Your _name,_ child."  
  
No response.  
  
Zarkon's eyes narrow, and beneath the cover of his helm, his own ears flatten back. He stalks to the front of his throne, the kit still held aloft, and sits. Watching carefully for fearful opportunism, he settles the child on one leg—as that is all the space he occupies on Zarkon's lap. The child makes no attempt to flee or escape, but Zarkon remains ready to recapture his scruff if necessary.  
  
"Your name," he repeats, and he applies conscious effort to keep his voice from skirting too close to a growl.  
  
The cub blinks, and one ear flicks up briefly, but that is all. Zarkon nearly loses all hope entirely, begins floundering for methods of returning an anonymous kit to his proper caretakers—( _a daunting task, as_ this never happened before)—but ticks later, the child blinks, shifts in place, and a tiny voice replies, "Kytox."  
  
"Kytox," Zarkon repeats, if only to reward the kit for his much-awaited cooperation. "Who is your parent?"  
  
"...I have two."  
  
_Good for you, child,_ he thinks, and it is only mostly sarcastic. He assumed, considering Haggar's assorted cloning techniques were likely not involved, the child indeed had two parents ( _at least in the most technical sense of the term_ ), or did have at one point, namely conception. Regardless, he only requires the identity of _one._  
  
"Which parent did you see most recently?" Logically, that will be the one who brought the kit to this sector of the ship and the one who can thus remove him.  
  
"...My _aren._ "  
  
He gives a slow, thorough blink. _Patience. He_ did _answer the question._ "What is their name?"  
  
"Phirok."  
  
Commander Phirok—a Second Commander assigned to the regulation of Central Empire territories. Their schedule would indeed have them at Central Command for assessment at this time.  
  
Zarkon taps the control panel on the throne's arm and brings up a line to Communications. "Contact Commander Phirok and have them sent to me immediately."  
  
_"Yes, my lord. Vrepit sa."_  
  
The screen winks out, and Zarkon is left with little to do but maintain a wary eye on the cub. Kytox appears to have settled enough that a sudden attempt to bolt seems unlikely, but Zarkon prefers to remain vigilant. The child watches him in return, alternating between brief, shy glances and moments of intense scrutiny when Zarkon fools the child into thinking his attention has waned.  
  
"Are you the Emperor?" Kytox asks quietly.  
  
Zarkon glances down. "I am."  
  
"I saw you on the holos."  
  
Said holos must be more than a century old—at their most recent. He does not make a habit of appearing in public.  
  
...Do they truly still play those clips?  
  
"I thought you were cool," Kytox whispers.  
  
Is _"cool"_ common parlance among his empire's children?  
  
He does not thank the child for his compliment ( _dubious though it may be_ ), not even in a parent's instinct to set an example. He has no interest in instilling manners in any child but his own.  
  
Kytox shifts until he sits with the pads of his bare feet pressed together. "I want to join your army, Emperor."  
  
Zarkon quirks an eyebrow. "You are too young."  
  
"Not now— _later._ "  
  
With a small huff of something like amusement, Zarkon's ears angle beneath his helm. He will indulge the kit—this once. "The Intelligence forces will welcome your skill when you come of age." Any Galra capable of infiltrating the Emperor's audience chamber at the age of—what, three? Four? Younger, even?—will likely be an asset for clandestine operations. He would much prefer such an individual work _for_ him than the alternative, though he would not dream this child, however bold, would grow up to succumb to insurgency.  
  
From the speaker: _"Emperor, Commander Phirok as requested."_  
  
"Is _aren_ here?"  
  
"They are here to retrieve you and escort you home."  
  
The kit blinks, his chin jutting out. "I don't want to go."  
  
_Patience,_ he thinks again, far more forcefully. No benefit comes of terrorizing children.  
  
"Your _aren_ will come, and they will remove you," he tells the kit. "There will be no more discussion of this."  
  
With his breath suddenly alarmingly close to hitching in distress, all Zarkon's efforts for calm wasted in the face of a stubborn, willful child, Kytox lurches forward and with startling speed works his way into the folds of Zarkon's mantle. This is treatment unbefitting an emperor, and the last of his patience finally wears thin... or, _almost_ the last. He recalls all too easily Lotor doing this very same thing, and though he is uncertain whether that makes the present events better or worse, it dutifully stirs up the mental muscle-memory of calm before all else.  
  
The voice from the speakers comes again, a hesitant tone to it now: _"...Emperor?"_  
  
He gives a long, rattling rumble of a sigh. "Send them in."  
  
Ticks later, the elevator rises with Commander Phirok aboard. They approach and kneel before the throne. "How may I serve, Emperor?"  
  
The commander's voice rings just as measured and polite as Zarkon remembers it to be, but in undertones and the curl of their shoulders, a tense, almost panicked energy runs wild. They likely searched frantically for their missing child before receiving the Emperor's urgent summons.  
  
"Commander, you misplaced something of yours," Zarkon says. The warm bundle pressed against his side worms closer, but he reaches into the folds of fabric, unerringly finds the scruff, and pulls the cub into the open.  
  
"Kytox!" Phirok exclaims. They begin to rise but remember themself and lower their head. "My lord, I am so grateful you found my child. I apologize for this intrusion. It will never happen again."  
  
Zarkon stands and carries the kit to his _aren,_ who straightens to receive him with eager arms. Paused, far closer to one of his soldiers than he would normally be, he peers down at the commander with narrowed eyes. "Mind your child next time, Phirok," he says. "This is no place for him to wander unattended." He holds no illusions about the natures his military tends to attract. There are a vicious handful who would find it amusing to harass one with no means of defending himself.  
  
"Yes, sire," says Phirok. "Thank you."  
  
"Go."  
  
He returns to his throne and the commander takes their leave. The bundle in their arms squirms, and the last Zarkon sees before the elevator removes them both is a pair of wide yellow eyes peeking over an armored shoulder.  
  
And then kit and parent are gone. At last.  
  
He steeples his fingers before him, ears pinning back beneath his helm. Children... He forgets how tireless they are. Millennia and an empire left him with little chance to be in their presence, and though he would not if he could...  
  
No. Nothing comes of dwelling on that. His own child is grown, and he will have no more. Leave him his memories but expect no more of him.  
  
Some matters are best left in the past, and perhaps this is one of them. He came here for a _purpose,_ not to manage wayward kits. A tap to the arm of his throne summons a holoscreen, and at last he begins the work for which he entered his audience chamber to begin with.  
  
A low, ticking rumble curls in his chest...  
  
...but he quiets it, stills thoughts and the present and the past. Matters more important require his attention. That a miniature infiltrator—( _albeit a harmless one_ )—interrupted his task was an unfortunate diversion, but the visit is relevant no longer.  
  
( _He always forgets the tenacity of cubs... that such a carefree innocence ever exists, ever existed in his own life._ )  
  
( _...It is relevant no longer._ )  
  
If he does forget the odd encounter, if he remembers it, that will remain as just unimportant as the rest... but if he _does_ recalls this interruption, perhaps mentions it to Haggar in passing...  
  
It changes nothing—yet...  
  
If twenty decaphoebs pass and he sees a familiar "Kytox" on Intelligence's roster, he will make certain to remember to pull him aside and ask what he forgot in sheer incredulity at the child's presence:  
  
How did a lone, lost kit manage to sneak into a _secure and guarded_ audience chamber at all?

**Author's Note:**

> Zarkon actually cares a lot about children and wants to make sure they're safe and well cared for. That's why it didn't even cross his mind to just hand the kid off to the nearest sentry with instructions to find the parent.


End file.
